Sure, you could go for the so-called five-speed turn-the-dial vibrators out there, or you could cross the threshold into the 21st century and try a vibrator powered by a microchip, that offers five incredible sensations, and each of those come in five different speeds. Oh, you have no idea.

But that’s only part of what I love, love, love about this toy. So, let’s slow down and break it down for a second: Continue reading →

Is there anything more fun than walking out a postal outlet knowing that, under your arms, is a big-ass box of sex toys, and no one there has a clue?

My local postal outlet’s in a 7-11. So there I am, walking out with a box of orgasms under my arm, and everyone else has got a Slurpee. Hardy-fucking-har. Enjoy yourselves. Clearly different notions of wetting one’s whistle.

The box, of course, was just your basic brown cardboard box. Within, however, were six sex toys and a nice big bottle of Liquid Sex lube. Yep, prepared for all eventualities now. A very exciting experience, receiving more than one GOOD toy at once.

The folks at Vibe Reviews asked me if I’d be willing to play around and write some reviews for them. No real rules, I can say what I want, yet I get the toys for free, and that’s that.

Which is good, because when I’m broke off my ass and barely getting by on what I’ve got now, the last thing I can afford to splurge on, sadly, are orgasms. Besides, I’m rather adept at, urm, “knocking one out” the ol’ manual way.

[Steff note: This posting began as an attempt for me to try and explain a little why women should act out loud when they’re masturbating in the privacy of home — thrusting, grabbing at their breasts and ass, grunting, whatever it takes… but it got a lot deeper and a lot bigger than just a posting on that — and has to do with women faking orgasms, being vocal during sex, and the psychology of sex. See? Something to chew on.]

Enjoying sex is all about learning to let go. It’s difficult for both sexes for different reasons.

Men, they have the pressure to perform and the demands of making their partner come before they do. It’s all about being hard, large, and getting it done in the right order. (No wonder so many opt for safe routines.)

Women, we have to get past all the bullshit that clutters the way between us and the fabled thing of glory, the orgasm. It’s a hard journey and it’s why some women–far too many, really–will always struggle with orgasms.

Guys want the one go-to it move that’ll get a chick off every single time. I thought I heard the Hallelujah chorus when I was young and heard a bunch of guys discussing the g-spot, like it was a sure-thing orgasm trick. But, in reality, most of them had probably never found it, and their girlfriends have likely all faked an orgasm just to get it over and done with.

Because, sometimes, it’s just easier because we know our body isn’t going that way, and we don’t want you to think it’s you. And we don’t want you to keep trying, because then you (unwittingly?) make us feel like we’re the damaged goods. So, we fake it. And you know, deep down inside, you sometimes appreciate that we do.

So, I got to thinking: If pretty much every woman has faked an orgasm, why can’t more of them use theatrics during masturbation?

Here’s the thing. If sex is about letting go, and most women face problems of inhibitions, baggage, religious issues, and/or breaking free from society’s constraints for a few wild moments behind closed doors, then why not just force yourself to cut loose a little more during masturbation?

It worked for me. More on that later.

Allow me to digress here for a second. Quiet sex is all well and good, but if you can make a little noise, you should. By being vocal during sex — I’m not saying you have to shout — but by being vocal during sex, you tap into a more primal place psychologically. Don’t dismiss the headtrip of sex; getting into the mode and allowing yourself to get primal, however you define that, is essential to really getting something out of sex.

On that note, remaining quiet keeps you more internalized. Besides that, it limits the amount of sharing. You grunt, groan, gasp, shudder, whimper… All of those things contain very readable signs for a lover. They don’t need a megaphone, they don’t even need words. It all says so much. Plus, it’s amazing what some good rhythmic grunting can do to heighten the arousal… when it’s coming from you. And it typically excites men much, much more… and considering the challenge of owning a penis, that’s sometimes a pretty nice helping point.

Hell, I was one of those quiet-in-sex girls until I was about 30 or so, and I couldn’t believe how much more bang for my orgasm buck I was getting when I was getting vocal during sex. Much better result. I live in a wood-framed building, so I’m not some banshee or anything, but I’m no mute, either. Find the level that works for you, it’s not about volume. It’s about expression, expression of how you really feel, but without having to put words to it, all right? But words sure as hell don’t hurt. (Usually.)

So this exercise is all about that. Masturbating, for women who have no sex toys kicking around, doesn’t often involve a lot of inspired imagining when it comes to the idea of a guy inside her. That’s a very difficult sensation to imagine in the mind’s eye. Visualize it, yeah. Identify with its feeling, no. Clearly the girl in this underwear ad had no such struggle.

I think the trick is, you have to grunt or gasp or moan or whatever you like to do, in the cadence that you wish you were thrusting with someone. You know, “Oh… oh… oh! Oh…” It helps flick the switch in your mind and helps fool you ever so briefly that you’re transcending from fantasy to reality, and it gets a little bit hotter. Especially if you mimic the thrusting action at the same time. Grabbing your breast never hurts, either. No, really.

Until you’re able to get past your bullshit enough to grunt and moan aloud to yourself when no one’s going to see or know, you’re never, ever going to let down enough of your guard and reservations to really have some experiences with your lovers.

There are different places you can come from when you’re being sexual, and some of them are pretty unbelievable, and you don’t get there by being timid in bed or afraid to express yourself. There’s sex, and then there’s the mindblowing sex you always file away as a go-to image for masturbation down the line, and for that kind of sex, you need to lose your hang-ups.

Being a good (and confident) lover takes practice and the courage to try moves and techniques blind. It involves studying. It involves curiousity. And it really involves having a voice and knowing not only what you like… but how you like it.

That’s why we masturbate. We masturbate because, well, getting off feels fantastic and shouldn’t have to wait until we’re a party of two, but we also should be masturbating so we can sort of take notes on what blew our mind best. It’s how we’re able to tell a lover what part needs to be nibbled or toyed with, and where what should go.

Why we expect that lovers should just magically know how to make us orgasm I’ll never understand. You wouldn’t show up to a wardrobe stylist, tell them to dress you, but not give them any information about you, your life, your job, or your preferences, would you? So why won’t we tell our lovers what we want?

Masturbation’s the research process through which you can do that. Of course, they can and will bring their mix to the equation, but since it’s your body, you should at least give them an orientation now and then.

Practice, grasshopper. In fact, what are you doing? Go download some porn or something. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, they say. Don’t be idle.

For the women out there who are more expressive in their masturbation:Were you always? When you became that way, did it change sex for you? How?

A storm is brewing. The air is thick, heavy, clinging,and almost chewy. Now and then a salt-laden breeze sweeps through my apartment, bringing a fragment of relief. And then it goes away, and all that’s left is this ominous forbearance of a change about to rain down on us, literally.

I love when a storm comes at the end of a heat wave. A thick wall of humidity is just cut through with sudden winds and rain, when we’re lucky with lightning. It’s nature’s equivalent of that intense tension that sometimes builds between a couple — whether that oppressive bad tension or that sizzling hot tension, doesn’t matter — and can only get broken by some good animalistic sex that doesn’t include “please” or “thank you” or small talk.

Sigh. Aside from the heat wave about to shatter, and with it this sticky clingfilm that seems to envelope me, I’m just generally hot and bothered these days anyhow. It’s that time of the month, so I’m amped on hormones, but I also had to spend a couple eight hour days last week working on sexual programming for TV at work, which can be bothersome and troubling when you’re in a well-lit office with lots of people. It’s an inappropriate time to get “into” your work, you know?

So, I’ve been eating tonnes of chocolate this week. That’s just great for the diet. Booze and chocolate, en masse, for several days. I’m chalking it up as an unholy convergence of a few sources of arousal over several days that have left me very sexually wound. A little too tightly so.

But I’ve been able to cash in and order some sex toys…

Yeah, I’m thinking the best thing that could happen for my diet right now is sex toys. Okay, well, getting laid would be nice, but that’s another dilemma altogether and we’ll just leave that for another little chat, shall we?

Sex toys: Easy to adapt to, easy to incorporate into my life, and I’ll always get the last word, and get it exactly how I like it. Right? Yes, there you go.

I have no good sex toys right now. THAT’s my problem. Ain’t that I’m not getting laid, it’s that masturbation has gotten boring. Bring on the multi-speed. That’s what I say. I mean, there’s only so much your poor little hand can do, right?

Sex toys are something we all should have. Too bad we see them as being such an extravagance. I’ve been wondering the last few days how much of my road rage and periodic grumpiness could be mitigated by some serious shagging. Or maybe I just need more chocolate. Shagging burns calories, though, as opposed to parking them on my already-ample ass.

See? This is why we need the sex toys. Because too much chocolate could ensure increased difficulty in the getting-laid capacity if it keeps appearing on one’s ass. Sleeping around is dangerous. Sex toys are safe, provided they’re cleaned properly and all that fun stuff.

This is exciting. Within a week I’ll be motoring my way to happier, more interesting orgasms. Gee, life just gets better all the time. Yes, of course I’ll share my experiences with you. I may be doing very regular sex toy reviews, actually. Let’s all keep our fingers crossed.

Being well-adjusted and even-tempered could actually loom in my life. Ludicrous, yes, but seemingly entirely possible! And all due to the fun of sex toys. Well, well. Yet another great thing about the internet.

Inspired? Have a lookie here at VibeReview, where I’ll be getting my toys. Splash-proof!

Funny enough, I’m editing this thing now and a few flashes of lightning have since devoured the humidity, and everything’s cooling off all of a sudden. Fantastic. :)

I was sent the following question in a comment this morning, and yes, they were right, it is an interesting topic to write about. Time’s not on my side today, so this is a quick take on the question… a question that could unleash some interesting discussion, and I hope it does.

I decided that I want to wait until marriage to have sex, but I’m still a chronic masturbator and ok with doing stuff with guys that doesn’t involve penis-in-vagina sex. I guess I just don’t really trust anyone enough to go “all the way” with them. Do you think I’m a hypocrite?

You want the short answer? Yep, I do think you’re a hypocrite, more or less. Thanks for putting words in my mouth.

There is nothing that makes me snicker more than religious types (which I don’t know if you are one or not) who tell me they’re abstaining from sex until marriage, but that they’ve done nearly everything except things involving penetration.

It’s the same reason why Bill Clinton was lambasted for claiming he “did not have sexual relations with that woman!” I mean, come on. You’ll get them off, they’ll get you off, but when it comes to insertion, you’re gonna play the morality card? What the fuck is that?

Oral sex, manually-induced orgasms, it’s all intimacy, and it’s all banned off primetime TV, all right? It ain’t for the kiddies and the after-school special, y’know?

If you’re not comfortable having sex for one reason or another, fine, but be honest about why you’re not. Don’t claim you’re some sanctimonious person waiting for the right person or whatever. Admit that you’re scared. Admit you have trust issues (which you have done here).

It’s all right be to scared, but don’t cover it up with some vow of chastity. Don’t run from the situation just because you haven’t got the sack to ante up and face it. I think it’s dishonest to be chronically masturbating, allowing men to get you off, trading favours, but then claiming you’re “abstaining” from sex. Why? What’s the point? You’re already doing all the intimate things a person can do. You’re already investing in carnal pleasures. You’re already sinning in the eyes of most religions.

It’s the sexual equivalent of someone being issued a restraining order for not going within 100 metres of X person/place, and instead of just staying the fuck away, they stand day in and day out at a distance of 101 metres, toying with the allowed limits. How is that possibly honouring the spirit of the situation? It’s not. It’s a crock, is what it is.

I could be all nice and say, “Oh, I understand the ambivalence of not having sex,” and all that, but honestly, you’re already feeling guilty and like you’re breaking some code, or else YOU wouldn’t have asked if you’re being a hypocrite. If you have to ask, then you are. Pretty simple.

If you were abstaining from sex and not letting men finger you, not masturbating, not exploring oral, then you would not be a hypocrite.

But, you, honey, are a hypocrite, any way you slice it. I’m sorry if the truth hurts, but it is what it is.

You’re scared of intimacy, you’re hoping like hell you’re being Just Good Enough to be virtuous, and you know, deep down inside, that you wish you could be fucked silly, but you don’t have the courage or the backbone to go there, because you’re scared that once you give them what they’re really wanting, that they’ll walk right on out on you.

And maybe, just maybe, they will. And maybe, just maybe, those fears are valid.

When it comes to morality, religion doesn’t tend to offer shades of grey. Things are sins, or they are not, and you don’t get to have the decoder ring to decide just how much of one particular action equates a sin. It doesn’t work that way. So, if you’re toying with it anyhow, why not just fucking buy the full-meal deal and get on with it? You’ve not started to go up in flames with the fires of Hell licking all around you yet, so what are you so scared of?

Again, I don’t know if religion plays a part in your decision, so the “you” in regards to anything religious is rhetorical, not specifically YOU.

I just wish people were more honest about their actions, and this duplicitous “well, you can get me off, but you can’t come inside of me” behaviour is symptomatic of all the hypocrisy that surrounds us. I grow tired of it, that’s all.
(Feeling that I may have sounded a little harsh in this post, I decided to revisit it, as I know there are some “virgins” out there who are trepidatious about their sexuality, and I don’t want to add too much fuel to that fire. Check out my second take here.)

(Fun for everyone! I forgot that I have a few things in my stores I can post, like this review:)

You know I’m a fan of voyeurism, but sometimes the best voyeurism is the one where no one even knows what’s going down.

An egg, an itty-bitty harmless egg came in my mail lately, and while awaiting its arrival, I began hatching a scheme for reviewing it.

Wireless remote, I thought. Why, that means, have egg, will travel. But travel to where, I thought?

Well, I’d insert the bad little egg and I’d take on the world, I thought. I’d zip downtown, egg in use, scootin’ through the masses. But I’d remove the battery from the remote for the scooter ride downtown. I mean, really, like you wouldn’t want that thing going off on the main drag.

“But, Bob, I think that woman on that little scooter is having an orgasm. Oh! She is. Oh, my…”

Bob veers sharply to the left, killing the granny in the passenger seat of the Caravan. No, we would avoid tragedy today. Battery, out.

I found myself a comfy spot on the sand, took in the view, and got cracking.

Yes, it’s a bad little egg, but I’m a fan. This summer, my outdoors life just got a whole lot more entertaining.

And, hey, who says loverman can’t get me off in a crowded room, huh? This is the kind of toy made for outdoors, made for indoors, but the wireless remote control means things can get fun not only for me, but for he who wields the remote, while the fun’s still private.

(The only way I’d like this better is if it were multispeed. But, then, multi could get mighty annoying if it were, in fact, some party setting where your loverman was playfully controlling the remote, and you’re there trying to schmooze with some big-wig. Loverman’s flicking through speeds like a kid with ADHD. Can you imagine? “And yes, the product launch was more successf…. errr… um, well, more successful than we — oh! I’m sorry, it must be the shrimp. Oh, DEAR. I think I need to take a moment. I’ll be right back.”

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About Steff

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